Night unfurls...
Spreading out across the Kingdoms...
Stretching out over the Fourth...
Settling...relaxing...snuggling
Into the Vale of White.
Last quarter moon...
dulling...smudging...blurring the landscape...
leeching the daylight colors
substituting shades of darkest ebon...
lightest charcoal...palest gray.
Tranquility shatters...blown apart
by...whistling...shrieking...
booming...
kaleidoscoping colors...
streaking...exploding...sun-bursting...
spinning...whirling...spiraling...
blazing...cometing...
blossoming across the nighttime sky...
bathing in garish hues
the castle nestled below.
Music spills...pours...
wafts...floats...soars...
through open casements...doors...
to be engulfed by the cacophony
high overhead.
Within the shimmering marble walls
candlelight blazes...
reflects...radiates...
from hundreds of crystal chandeliers.
Kings...Queens...
Princes...Princesses...
Emperors...Empresses...
Lords...Ladies...
Fairies...Elves...
Lupine Hero and Waitress Heroine
Waltz...
whirling...swooping...dipping...
silken gowns belling...swaying...
flowing...
brocade coattails kiting...fluttering...
waving...
rejoicing...celebrating...
reveling in
King Wendell's coronation ball.
Within the Fairying Forest...
beside the banks of the Beck of Beyond...
an ancient hedgerow stands...
branches bend...twist
twigs intertwine...weave
leaves screen...conceal...
throwing a giant shadow
that spreads...inking down the slope...
across the beck...
Turning the water...jet...
coating the rocks
pooling on the opposite bank.
Night's chorale...
whippoorwill's quizzical call...
fox's celebratory yowl...
cricket's hyperactive fiddling...
cicada's frazzled scream...
bullfrog's amorous baritone
...serenades the glen.
At the heart of the hedge
firefly lanterns gently cast a glow
within the antechamber...throne room
Great Hall...kitchen...
twisty-turney passageways...
curvy honeysuckle-twined staircases
of the Passiflora Palace.
In the early nighttime hours...
all is silent...at rest...
King Florian and Queen Thumbelina are out.
Down the nursery corridor
a silhouette flits...darts
across the ceiling...
drifting to the floor...
sneaking along the hall.
Pubescent wings folding...
petite feet tiptoeing...
heart rabbit thumping...
naughty exhilaration...
giggling...bubbling in her throat
The Princess Lillibet
shadow-slips through the doors
of her baby brother's room.
Cuddled within his gilded chestnut shell crib...
hair upon his tiny head
a lilac fluff...
Prince Digit slept...
cooing softly.
Dreams of dewdrop candy...
honeysuckle cream...
curving his rosebud mouth...sweetly.
Alongside the crib
Nanny mouse dozed...
snores erupting mellifluously.
Inching...edging...creeping
around the bassinette ...
wary eye on nurse and tot...
freezing...statue-still...
when mouse shifts...settles
into a more comfy pose.
Puckish peridot eyes...
searching the gloom hovering above
the crib...
sparkle when they spot
the miniature coronet perched above.
Lillibet....
frowning...in concentration...
worrying...chewing bottom lip...
assesses the situation...
considering...the best method
to achieve...pull off...her scheme.
Wings...too risky.
Fanning...stirring up the air
guaranteed to wake...if not both
most assuredly the nurserymouse.
Slight shoulder shrug...
She'll have to clamber...up.
A chest o' drawers solidly rests
beside the crib...
its drawers...if pulled out...
just right...for makeshift steps.
Climbing...up...
Summit achieved...
Prize...just about...within reach.
Toes pointed...balancing
Body lengthening...stretching
Arms extending...reaching
Fingers straining...to touch...
Connecting...
Slipping...knocking against...
Crown wobbles...bobbles...
Teeters...totters...
Tips...tilts...
Plummets...
Towards the sleeping prince.
Frantically she grasps a wing...
lancing it forward...
Skewering the circlet on a fragile tip.
Heart pounding...hammering
Scurrying down the improvised steps
Treasure tightly clutched
She sets the chest to rights
Twists...sticks her tongue out
Toward the crib
Darts to the door...out
Vanishes down the hallway.
Crowing inwardly...reveling in her audacity
Lillibet unfolded...spread wide her wings.
Springing from the casement...
launching high into the night air...
catching a lazy current...
she drifted...light as thistledown...
giving little thought
to the parental wrath
her wayward act will later bring.
Savoring...relishing her victory
over mother...father...
despised...loathed baby brother.
As though summoned by the thought
Digit's pixie face intruded
spoiling her celebratory mood
as he had ruined everything
since his birth.
She scowled...grimacing...
angrily jamming the crown down
upon her curls.
It was too tight...too small...
magic-forged to fit the prince's wee head.
Its mystical properties allowing
for enlargement as he grows...ages.
But it should be hers...HERS!
Smile...sly...not too pretty...
slides across her face...
But it would be...hers.
There was a way.
No doubt...about...that.
Loop-to-looping...swooping...
circling...spiraling...
Oh, how clever she was!
How cunning!
How devious!
How sly!
She had taken the crown
without batting an eye...
without losing her nerve.
And now...
was all alone...in the darkness...
outside the protective palace walls...
soon to be returning
with no one ever the wiser.
Her parents treated her like an infant!
Setting restrictions...limitations.
Prohibiting this...forbidding that.
Excluding her from partaking
in the merriment...revelries
enjoyed by all the flower folk.
Above all...banning any venturing out...
after dark.
Wings beating an angry tempo...
tears of anger...hurt...self-pity
brimming...welling up.
Remembering how...
the day before...
when she'd voiced her plea...
to accompany them to the Ball...
her father had laughed...
patted her head...
said she was too young...too small...
a child...a babe
still wet behind the wings.
Her mother...hugging her rigid body close...
a sympathetic smile upon her lips...
had gently, firmly refused all entreaties...
all tears...all tantrums thrown.
Condemning her to a day and night
of utter tedium...unmitigated boredom....
while across the Kingdom
festivities...celebrations were ensuing...
and she...Princess of the House of Floras...
the only one...or so it seemed...left out.
Storming to her room...
Slamming the door...
Lashing out...kicking toys...
Hurling odds and ends across the room
she'd flung herself upon the bed
burying her face
in the woolly caterpillar coverlet
soaking it with outraged tears.
Her aphid pet
trembled...quivered...shook
beneath the bed
as fists hammered her displeasure
into the hapless pillows.
That was yesterday.
Today...this morning...early...
tears long cried out...dried...
she'd watched...
along with Digit and his nanny...
as King, Queen and entourage set out
for Prince Wendell's Castle
and his Coronation Ball that night.
Six hummingbird-drawn carriages
gaily festooned with flowers...gold brocade...
swept into the summer air
catching...reflecting
the rays of an emerging sun.
Happy chortling...exuberant waving
of the baby's chubby fist
wished the parents bon voyage.
A petulant scowl...sullen glance...insolent stance
were Lillibet's parting gifts.
Scuffing a toe...dragging a heel...
Marring...streaking
the sparkling mica inlaid floor
Lillibet had stalked behind the elderly mouse
and her princely charge...
Her fingers itching to painfully pinch...nip
a dimpled toddler thigh
that kicked and bounced so merrily
inches from her face.
Daydreaming...relishing the reaction
that act would evoke
an idea had slipped in...taken root...
[a solution Dunraven offhandedly had mentioned]
a way to defy her parents...
solve her sibling problem...
regain her importance within the palace.
She'd show them...each...and every one.
She was twelve...after all...
old enough to take to her wings.
Delighted with her scheme
she'd skipped up the crystalline stairs...
retiring to her chambers
to wait for Dunraven to appear...refine...hone the plan.
With an abrupt shudder
Both wings wavered...faltered
snapping her attention to the present.
Alarmed she frantically sought a safe
protected landing spot.
Summoning an ample burst of speed
she safely maneuvered and came to rest
upon the gnarled limb of an ancient oak.
Panting...sinking to her knees
she felt her wings curl...draw inward
hugging her back...drained...exhausted.
Full maturity would not be reached
until her fourteen year...
she'd forgotten their fragile state
Overburdening...sapping their strength.
Needing time to revive...recharge
she set about exploring her leafy sanctuary.
Abruptly...
Close by...rustling bushes...pebbles loosened...
sent rolling...knocking...
announced the passage
of a childish figure...whitely clad
in nightclothes...drooping bedcap...
bare feet shuffling...stumbling...
mouth stretched wide...yawning...
one chubby fist...rubbing sleepy eye...
other dragging a lantern...softly glowing.
Lillibet darted...knelt behind a leaf...
holding breath...longing for invisibility.
She'd managed to elude the spirit
at home...but if spied now
she'd never wake in time to
reenter the palace undetected.
Beneath the tree...
Tripping every now and then on
roots...stones...nightshirt hem...
Wee Willie Winkie toddled along
heading for home...soft, comfy bed...
another long night's work laid to rest.
Following his progress...eyes apprehensive...
limbs tensed...
Lillibet's muscles slackened...relaxed
when the sleep spirit...at long last...passed from sight.
Rising...gingerly...reluctant to make a sound
giving wings a jiggle...hoping to prod...spur
them to awake.
Having none of her urging...
they simply curled tighter...snuggled closer...
refused to budge until fully re-energized
from forewings...to hind.
Irritated...annoyed...but resigned...
there was still plenty of time
to do what was needed...
she resumed the exploration...interrupted
so unexpectedly...just moments before.
Pace began to slow...eagerness...interest to wane...
there was nothing to see...discover...
just a stupid old tree...with stupid old limbs
and stupid old leaves.
Seen one...seen them all.
Boredom...a catalyst...ingredient
for brewing bad humor...threatened to descend...
when...from a branch...directly overhead...
something drew her attention...caught her eye.
A gentle billowing...swelling...
as of a ghostly net...
catching the gentle night wind...ensnaring the moonshine
in diaphanous strands...filaments.
Climbing...scrambling...scaling up
an ivy vine...snaking...meandering...
its way up...up...up the trunk
she gained the limb...
approached the gossamer lattice.
Mesmerized she watched it rise and fall
upon a cresting wave of air.
From the shadows
a gentle sucking...hissing whisper
issued a warning
to be careful...where she stepped.
Above all...touch not the web.
With a toss of amethyst curls
and an impish grin
Lillibet defiantly pressed a toe
to the sticky silk.
Instantaneous reaction...
Vibrations
rippled...undulated
spread out...radiated up.
Telegraphed...the trap's been sprung!
Reacting purely by reflex...instinct
four pairs of legs scurry forward...
forelegs eager to seize...
spinnerets positioning...
readying to wrap...shroud...
four pairs of eyes hunger lit...
one pair of fangs primed to pierce...
mouth impatient to suck...drain dry.
Startled...
Stumbling backward...
Sandals catching...tripping...
Arms windmilling...
Falling...
Landing...
Back pedaling...
Escape barred...denied...
By a twig!
Shaking...quaking...
gaping in wide-eyed horror...terror
at the nightmare bearing down upon her...
the terrified sprite screamed out
a plea...
Piercing the predatory trance.
Halting the forward advance.
Fighting to regain control...
Its agitation...frustration
causing the web to pump...
bounce...up...down.
Eyes gradually dimming...
transforming...returning
to their former gentle state.
Sighing...profoundly...
Spider chided the wayward fairy child
"You must learn to heed
counsel given...for your safety...for your good.
Tis my nature...to react...attack...
devour what springs my trap.
At night...the forest alters...changes.
Things lurk...lie in wait...in the dark
Things that do not go abroad in the sunlit hours."
Once well-being established...safety assured
Lillibet clambered to her feet...
anger...sap-like...rising.
Confronting the arachnid...
chin raised imperiously...
anger emitting from every pore...
she declared her immunity...royal dispensation...
a relaxation of the rules...that govern lesser beings.
No creature...human or otherworldly...would dare...
Harm...injure...the daughter of King Florian...
the Princess Lillibet of the House of Floras.
Turning on her heel...stomping off...
[quite unprincess-like]
seething with indignation...
pride bruised...demanding payback
for misperceived slight...humiliation.
Mind...eyes...twisting...seeking...questing...
she ascended to an upper branch
and spied the perfect method...means to carry out revenge.
An owl's nest...strategically placed...eggs left unattended
but warm and snug beneath a maternal shawl
of moss...leaves...fluffy down.
Crisscrossed twigs provided a means
for easy access...
Nesting debris...perfect...for leveraging...
A spiteful heart...strength ...apathy...to perform the deed.
Rolling...pushing...shoving...maneuvering...
an egg...at last...positioned...
wobbling...trembling...upon the cusp.
One good heave...egg and innocent within
Plummet...guiltless instruments of obliteration...
toward the web and hapless spider below.
A glance...nod of satisfaction...smile of "take that"
Was all the notice given...to the lives just taken.
An impatient shake of shoulders...wings awake...
[about time]
stretch...flex...flap up...down...back...forth...
test their strength.
Satisfied with results...they begin to pulse...
slowly...faster...faster...
tempo picking up...lifting her from the nest.
Free...she set her course...again...
toward the secret meeting place
suggested...proposed
by her best...only...friend.
Amid the damp...mold...decay...beneath the rotten log...
hunched over...chin on knees...arms hugging legs...
body swaying...rocking...with barely suppressed
elation...
mind animated with thoughts best left unsaid...
tongue caressing...stroking...licking in gluttonous expectation...
Dunraven...watched...waited.
Bogie...bogeyman...
Body...stunted...emaciated...
Clad in hair...shade of deep depression...misery...
terrified cries in the dark...static-bristled...from flat-top crown...
to receded chin...to stumpy red toes and four-fingered hands.
Lidless eyes...conical...pivoting independently...
reptile cold...the color of foul smells and waste.
Mouth...a jumble of teeth...chaos-honed...sulfur-hued.
Ears...funnel-shaped...ever cocked...eager to snare...
slightest rumor of discord...despair.
Nose...vulture keen...the better to sniff out vulnerabilities.
Temperament...windshear-unpredictable...turbulent...
Razor-edged with dangerous...impious glee.
He would feed soon...
She was coming...the air pulsated...throbbed
with her eagerness...the nearer she drew.
Like chum upon shark infested water
the sweet stench of envy...resentment...self-pity...
first tender bud of blossoming hate...
had drawn...lured...sirened him to Passiflora.
Gaining entry...he'd taken his time...crept his way
from clothes closet...to toy chest...
to the hidden recess beneath the bed
of Thumbelina's eldest child.
Entering her dreams...thoughts...he ferreted out
what boiled...bubbled...festered
underneath the innocent-seeming surface.
Appearing during the aftermath of a typical temper fit
[In the guise of rolly-polly...jovial...gnome...
invisible to all but Lillibet's eyes]
he'd wiped her tears...soothed her sobs...
doled out bogus sympathy...understanding...consolation...
becoming confidant...sounding board...ally...best friend.
With nightly sly whisperings he added fuel...fanned the flames...
of adolescent insecurities.
Moaning with excitement...panting with desire...
giggling hysterically...
pulling out fistfuls of hair...in unbridled longing...
Dunraven paced...impatience...tension growing.
After much meticulous preparation...the moment had come.
Tonight...harvest time.
He'd gorge upon the fruit of his machinations...
Eat his fill of the pain...sorrow...grief...to come.
Setting down...featherlight...upon a lichen obscured rock
tumbled by the edge of fetid Wicked Stepsister bog...
Lillibet peered through the eddying mist...
searching for her collaborator friend.
With a leap...a bound...he was by her side...
chubby...Granny Pips cheeks bobbing...
rotund jelly-belly shimmying.
Suffering a welcoming hug...
veiling revulsion behind a Cheshire Cat grin...
He urge her...be quick...follow.
Reluctant to set her sandaled feet
in the muck...mud
she glided behind the scampering gnome
as he followed a snail's phosphorescent...slimy trail
over...under...roundabout...
until the roots of a giant cypress..
twisted...gnarled...tortured...
rising from the miasma
like the serpent tresses of some sleeping Gorgon...
blocked their path.
Flea-hopping from one ropy limb to next
the bogie led Lillibet to a curtain of moss...
cascading like deadman's hair.
Eagerly...he tugged it aside...
revealing the entrance to a long abandoned rodent den.
Chomping at the bit...impatient to be done
he grabbed her arm...thrusting her forward.
Knocked off-balance...Lillibet tumbled down the shaft.
Only a turn in the tunnel halted her headlong flight.
Battered...scratched...dazed...
momentarily blinded by the dark
She slowly regained her wits.
Relief flooding every limb...once assessing
the crown had remained secure...
no broken bones...
only minor bruising...no tearing...to her wings had occurred.
From up above...far behind...echoing down the hole...
Dunraven coaxed...cajoled...wheedled...
urged her to get up...
continue forward...downward...on her quest.
[The change...the unnatural...guttural timbre
his voice had assumed
went unnoticed in her befuddled state.]
Rising...unsteadily...feeling her way along the dirt-packed wall
she stumbled on
Gradually becoming aware...
the darkness was fading...paling...
being dissolved by a pulsating...vermilion glow.
Abruptly...the tunnel ended...in a burrow...
hollowed...shaped by the claws of its long dead architect/tenant...
the floor littered with twigs...empty nut and acorn shells...
tiny...splintered bones.
Resting upon a bed of decomposing leaves...
Lay a folded cloth...
the source of the fiery light...
Myriad shades of red...
exploding...bursting...flowing
like molten lava across its flattened surface...
Searing white-hot red of anger...rage...
Rapacious throbbing red of lust...
Venomous blackish blood-clot red of hate.
Her heart pounded...in her throat...
it was just as Dunraven had said...promised
the Mantle of Maleficent.
A diabolical instrument of revenge...
The last act of an evil queen
mortally wounded in dragon guise...
her blackened heart pierced by the Sword of Truth
swung by a valiant Prince rescuing the Sleeping Beauty.
A remnant of her ebony robes ...removed by loyal minions ...
immersed in the blood that fountained forth...
secreted away by her raven familiar.
A thing of perverted...hypnotic beauty...
beckoning...tempting...enticing the unwary...
to slip it on.
Once its scarlet folds are draped...wrapped around...
they cannot be cast off
but consume the unfortunate within...in hellish dragon's flame
till nothing but ash...soot remain.
In trepidation...Lillibet approached the cloth
As though it were a serpent...coiled...poised to strike.
But Dunraven had assured...it was perfectly safe
As long as it remained folded.
A trembling finger...reaching out...poking...jerking back
then...puzzled...touching again.
The surface was cool...refreshingly so...radiating no heat.
Emboldened she picked it up...stroked the swirling colors...
laid her cheek upon it.
Edgily hopping from foot to foot
Worriedly slicing teeth through lip
Crimson foam frothing
Dunraven impatiently waited the fairy's return...
disquieted by the delay.
His turdish eyes gleamed with satisfaction...glee
when she stepped from the burrow's entrance
the lethal shroud held tight against her unripened breast.
Ah, the appetizer is served...the main course
ready to be dished up.
His expression turned to grimace...
[as she threw her arms around him
in yet another of her insufferable embraces]
then to horror...shock...
as she stepped back...scrutinizing him curiously...
and...too late...he understood her intent.
The mantle rested comfortably...cloaking his shoulders.
Immediately his form shifted to its normal state...
hirsute body shaking...twisting...engulfed in flame...
the hair...perfect fuel...for the rapacious blaze.
With a horrific shriek...torn from roasted lungs...
the bogie disintegrated...collapsing...
a mound of cinders marking his former existence.
Hands clapping...delighted laughter ringing...toes pirouetting
It worked!
It was just the thing!
Oh, what perfect swaddling for a darling prince...
of a baby brother!
Of course, she was sorry...but not much...
for Dunraven's demise.
But his sacrifice was necessary...she'd had to make sure
he'd been telling the truth.
Elated...cow jumping over the moon jubilant...
She gathered the mantle...folded it carefully...
and took to the air...the beating...whirling of her wings
scattering the bogeyman's remains
Across the scummy surface of the bog.
Gliding...anxious now...to hasten home...
but mindful of the earlier mishap...with her wings
she took a break...halfway there...
beside a brook...
settling...cross-legged upon a toadstool
the mantle safe within her lap...
its luminosity simmering hotly in the dark.
Propping elbows on knees...chin on palms
She idly watched a quartet of frogs warming up
for their midnight chorus...
Then turned her thoughts inward...contemplating
The next step in her plan.
Best to present the mantle as a gift...
gaily wrapped...
bedecked with lots of colorful ribbon...
secretly delivered...
a simple tag reading..."for Prince Digit".
No link to her...and after the deed was done
she'd play her part...crying...wailing...mourning...
like the rest...
but smiling behind the mask of woe
knowing the crown was hers...
as it should always have been.
So lost in dreams...she failed to note
the startled plopping of the frogs
retreating beneath the placid surface.
Drifting lightly to the ground
she sauntered to the water's edge
leaning forward to catch her reflection...
The crown's jewels twinkling.
Raising an arm...playacting...she mimed
a royal wave...regal nodding of the head...
humbly accepting the cheers
of her loyal...adoring subjects.
A sudden downward swoosh of air
A specter's shadow
reflected in the water...
Was all the warning given
before a silent...swift...snakelike thrust
and nothingness
spoiled all her plans.
Beak snapping...snaring...trapping
The owl threw back its head...swallowed deeply...
then...majestic wings beating rhythmically...
it soared gracefully into the sky.
A cry...mournful...yet...triumphant
echoed through the wood.
A mother's retribution
for a shattered egg...a murdered chick.
In the grass...mired in the mud...
a tiny golden crown...a severed fairy wing.
Of the evil queen's enchanted cloth...
nothing could...nor ever would...be seen.
If you enjoyed this poem, please let Mary-Cade know.
